


Hitting Rewind

by PaperAnn



Series: PaperAnn's Bingo 2018 Works [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Post Episode s08e02, Post-Purgatory, Reunions, SPN Fluff Bingo, SPN Fluff Bingo 2018, Sam Winchester Fixes Things, Smut, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-06 19:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14063781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperAnn/pseuds/PaperAnn
Summary: The second Dean escaped Purgatory, he hit the ground running, forgetting the brakes, and left Sam as a disgraced afterthought.  Like roadkill on the side of the highway.  Everything spiraled before they knew which way was up.  The truth was that Sam knew he’d messed up during their year apart, but he was working to fix things now.Sam's first priority was simple.  A redo.  That was, if Dean relinquished even a little control.  Their 'reunion' had been a god-awful shitshow.  Sam refused to let that lie, he refused be shrugged off, because…Dean was his world.They hadn’t been in the right place when they found each other again.  Everything felt wrong, itwaswrong, but Sam was ready to change it.  This time, their reunion would count: it would act as a homecoming and remind Dean just how much he was loved—because Sam had nothing to lose.





	Hitting Rewind

It was the middle of the night, and Sam couldn’t sleep.  For hours on end, he’d listened to Dean moving around, he’d counted his brother's steps instead of sheep.  Sam was wrapped in this feeling of guilt, constantly growing tighter, that paired with a horrible taste lingering in the back of his throat.  It was enough to make him sick.  Their reunion…it wasn’t what Sam had imagined.  It didn't feel real, it wasn't even a shadow of the fact  _they were back together_ again should’ve been.

Something was holding them at arm's length.  Whether it was Dean’s fury or Sam’s personal mess, he didn’t know.  As the days and the nights wore on, as all this crap started piling up.  Sam's need to make it right escalated with it.    
  
They'd actually managed to find Kevin.  Just as quickly, they lost Kevin _and_ Linda.  And things were still fucked.

Purgatory took away—or possibly awakened—something in Dean, and there was no changing him.  Deciding to let Dean go when he'd vanished with Dick Roman, to 'move on,' it had been stupid.  So goddamn stupid.  Whatever Sam had thought he was doing (perhaps running away in a moment of madness) it had changed their relationship, and he didn’t know why he'd made that choice—

Sam was living in a haze after he lost Dean: it was part of the reason he hit that damn dog in the first place.  That moment was the turning point, where everything began to spiral for him, here, on Earth.

Despite their love, who they _were_ , what they _had_ , before Sam had said 'yes' to Lucifer and then tumbled into the Cage—he’d ordered Dean to go to Lisa.  He wanted, more than anything, for his brother to be happy...even if it was without Sam.  
  
This time, when Dean disappeared after Sam’s mourning (when thinking his brother was actually dead became too much to bare), he tried forge something with a woman named Amelia.  That was the Winchester Pact upon death—don't do anything stupid, don't go searching, find another kind of happily ever after.

Both Amelia and Sam had countless broken parts, it was obvious, and maybe that was why they were drawn to each other.  She was as different from Dean as you could get, she made Sam forget.

It didn’t last long, though.  Sam, he…couldn’t be intimate with her.  While Amelia was a beautiful woman, and he was attracted to her on a certain level, the second things turned physical Sam knew it wouldn’t work.

He knew his hesitance and distaste at the concept wasn’t going to be a one time thing, too.  All he could think about was Dean.

Amelia’s soft skin, her long, curly hair falling in his face when they kissed, the shape of her curves.    
  
It was all wrong.    
  
Sam needed the rough edges, the callouses, the strength and unbreakable body both underneath him and on top of him.  Sam could never, ever tell Amelia about it either.  He could never admit "what was wrong" because he knew, just like all his life, he'd be deemed a freak.

They may have stayed together for a bit, until her husband came back from the dead, but Sam figured Amelia truly deserved having her love returned.  She’d earned it, after being in a completely sexless relationship with Sam, listening to night terrors and cold, thrashing fever dreams that kept him awake.  Shit, she deserved a hell of a lot more.

The ironic thing that sucked the most...?  When Sam had told Dean about it all, he brushed off the fact that Sam couldn’t be with anyone but him.  His brother decided to _focus_  on the fact that he’d stayed with Amelia, and how that was even _more_ intimate.  Sam was baffled, they were glorified roommates, but Dean wouldn't listen—he had his own perspective and he wasn't happy at all. 

It was so frustrating!  Sam couldn’t do a damn thing right!  What he ruined for one person, wasn’t appreciated by the one who he did the ruining _for_.  And the innocent stuff was what set Dean off?  Domestic bullshit?  Maybe he was taking aim and shooting, because it was the reason Sam had left hunting.  And Dean was bitter.

Sam knew what they needed a different beginning—a fresh start.  To erase all this pain, all these miscommunications and mindless anger.    
  
When they found each other again, neither of them was ready.  They were both different people, that year changed them and skewed them to different extremes of the spectrum.  Somehow, they needed to find one another in the middle, if it were even possible...    
  
Hell, Sam wasn’t sure that they were ready now, but he had to try.  He _refused_ to let another night pass by: Dean actively restless and Sam plagued by insomnia, listening to Dean's restlessly.    
  
Sam tossed back the sheets, shot out of the motel room bed saying screw caution.  Dean probably already knew he was awake, and it was pointless to approach him with any kind of stealth.  Especially after the horror show that was Purgatory, all his brother's senses had heightened.  Sam boldly sought Dean out in the dark.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean from behind and whispered, “Holy fuck, I missed you.”  He couldn’t say it enough, he needed to stop the words from pouring from his goddamn mouth and use them as _fuel_ instead.

These days, this is where they always stopped.  Always.   
  
Frozen in some stupid, half-assed embrace, at a stalemate.  Locked in this world of ‘no’ and someone’s ‘maybe later’ when they’d been apart a full fucking _year—_

“Hey, hey, it’s all right, I get it—” Dean whispered through that always-hoarse voice of his, arm raising to grab and support Sam’s.

Yet, Sam was sick and tired of being told that it was all right.  No.  It wasn’t.  Sam had fucked up, he was willing to admit it.  He'd done everything wrong over the last twelve months, in so many ways, and he couldn’t be placated anymore.  Sam dropped his arms to loop around Dean’s waist and nestled into the crook of his neck, kissing the tense skin and rigid tendons there.  Where Dean was usually pliant and loving within Sam's arms, there was thick, apprehensive muscle—

“Sam,” Dean twisted around and heaved a sigh, “Go back to sleep, all right?”

“What is it?”  He wasn’t taking no for an answer anymore.  Sam reached out and cupped Dean’s cheeks, forcing his attention.  “I know.  Before, you were pissed off.  And I admit that I messed up.  But I miss you, I miss _us_  more than anything and I…I need you.”  Sam leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, daring to saying, “I think you need me, too.”

If Dean had been even remotely relaxed before, that caused him to slam all the fucking doors shut.

He pushed Sam off him, from where they’d both been sitting on the edge of the bed and stormed off towards the window.

Maybe Dean had gotten knocked in the head one too many times during his adventure in Purgatory.  Maybe Dean forgotten just how big of a pain in the ass Sam could be when he set his mind to something.  There was no way in hell Sam was stepping down, he followed right on his tail.  Plus, this wasn’t just a random ‘something,’ this was the 'what' Sam fought for his entire life: the reason he was still here.    
  
Dammit, the idea of Dean gone...it was too much.  It had been why Sam _had_ given up hope, along with hunting.  There wasn't a him if there wasn't Dean, both men knew that all too well.  Now that Sam had him back, things were changing.

He would make that change now.

Sam spun his brother around and grabbed him by the shoulders, stating irrefutably, “You’re coming to bed with me tonight.  I’m sick and tired of sleeping without you.  Are you going to make this difficult?  Because I can either beg…tell you how not a single day went by that I didn’t hurt without you there.  Or we can do this the hard way.  With—”

“Really, Sammy?  Are you _threatening_ me?” he scoffed and tried to shrug away the hands on his shoulders.  “You didn’t try too hard to bust me outta that joint.  So I highly doubt—”

Sam didn’t want to argue, not like this.

Even though he didn’t know what he was dealing with, Sam didn’t have a damn thing to lose.  So he pushed forward and kissed Dean with every ounce of what ‘I miss you’ meant to him.  It was enough to finally drain the fight, or rather... _redirect_ that fight.

Dean growled against his lips, sucking and biting them as his hand roughly latched onto Sam’s sides.  He was angry—he couldn’t say no, but if there was ever a time to be stubborn, this would be it.  Maybe Sam should have tried using his body instead of his words right away?  Then again, he, himself, wouldn’t have been ready back then either.

As Sam slowly began walking them backwards towards the bed, Dean’s nails dug in harder, Sam’s mouth moved more purposefully.  Sam kept on kissing and licking away any showings of apprehension or doubt, putting things like love in its place.

That was what it really, truly was about.

God, Sam loved him so much. Even though it was hard to recognize this Dean who came back, he was still his brother.  Just like when Sam was hooked on demon blood, he was still him.  Which was why it was so hard to comprehend why Dean hated him so much _now_.  Hadn’t Sam done wrong on a much greater, friggin _global_ level in the past?  And somehow, Dean thought who he was currently transcended bringing about the rise of Satan?

The backs of Sam’s legs hit the mattress, and it was now or never.  He gripped Dean’s waist tighter and fell backwards, letting Dean tumble on top of him.

It worked to rile him up, they both moved as one, relaying on elbows and knees to crawl up the length of the bed.  Sam was so caught up in tearing away at their clothes—and skating his hands across Dean’s skin—he was surprised by the raised surface and grooves of new scars.

So many new scars.

They littered Dean's skin, some barely scraping across the surface, some deep gouges, and Sam wondered briefly—was this a reason Dean didn’t want to be with him?

Because of what Purgatory truly did to him, figuratively and literally?  He’d get that thought out of Dean’s head soon enough.

“I've…missed us…” Sam groaned into Dean’s mouth, their cocks grinding together.  “So fucking bad—”

Dean scoffed and Sam could practically see his eyes roll.  
  
That, right then and there, was when Sam had finally had enough.

He grabbed a fistful of Dean’s hair, forcing his focus and demanded his attention. “What is it?  Huh?  Once and for all!  Do you not want me anymore, is that it?  Am I forcing myself on you?”

“C-couldn’t be further from the truth.”  Dean had the nerve the chuckle.  “I thought about getting back to you.   _Every_.   _Day_.  Only to find out you never came looking for me.  Not once, Sammy.  How do you think that makes a gal feel?  Like, I don’t know, maybe  _you’re_  the one going the motions?  Showing me pity?”

Sam was stunned. Completely and totally stunned.

“No…that’s, no!  I need you, I…a lot happened to me during that year, and when I thought I lost you?  I was trying not to do something stupid, trying not to relapse, or—” Sam stammered out, and lost his leverage, flopping down to the bed.  “Dean, you’re…” he barely whispered the words, “my everything.  I was...broken.”

Sam folded his hands over his eyes (figuring that Dean would take off anyway) and decided to say what they _never_ fucking said.  What else was there to lose?

“You know how much I love you, Dean—”

The mattress shifted slightly, but it wasn’t due to Dean leaving.

Shocked, Sam felt his brother’s lips, kissing the knuckles held over his face.  He slowly released them, keeping his eyes squeezed shut, because he was worried if he looked—everything would fall away.

Dean kissed his eyelids, his nose, and finally his lips.  His rough hands were familiar as they caressed down Sam’s neck and his chest, getting him worked up in excitement rather than fear.  Sam was losing his breath, being stolen away because of the passion delivered from Dean, no longer the damming hate.

This was—

This was how things were _supposed_ to be…  
  
How they were _meant_ to be.

Dean’s hushed, “I missed you too, Sammy,” was prelude to his hot mouth moving, leaving marks, bruises—reminders that he belonged—all over the blank canvas of Sam’s skin.

God, he loved the fierce and possessive touch.  Yes, it _was_ amplifiedfrom what he remembered in the past—but Sam didn't blame him: it was a homecoming.

Sam gasped and arched his hips as Dean enthusiastically went about leaving teeth marks and hickeys everywhere he could reach.  He was so desperate, so hungry for friction that when Dean's hand finally wrapped around his cock, Sam trashed and moaned to show his appreciation.

“Seems morbid, s-since I thought you were dead—but only you,” Sam was choking on his words as Dean’s tongue lapped the precum from his slit, “O-only imagining you will make me cum.”

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean looked devilish, a reflection back to his old self, when he lazily pumped Sam’s cock with his fist.  “You thinking of me when you were fucking that chick?”  While Sam’s mouth was wide in protest, Dean interjected, “Lube? You got any?”

“Inside the left pocket,” he gestured to his duffle.  When Dean hopped off the bed completely, Sam raised his voice to loudly correct, “It didn’t happen. I told you, me and Amelia…I _couldn’t_.  She wasn’t you.”

The sound of the cap followed by the wetness of fingers slipping between is legs made Sam keen.  It looked like his brother wasn’t feeling very patient, pushing in two fingers at once and immediately scissoring him open.  While it wasn’t necessarily painful, Sam questioned Dean’s motives…

Did he want to get it over with?  Was he avoiding any kind of talking right now?  Or—what Sam hoped for—did he simply want him that bad?

When Dean struck his sweet spot, Sam shouted out and spread his legs wider.  While the words, “Another, Dean,” was an order, he whispered the admission, “There’s been no one since you.  No one besides you.  You know you’re it, right?  Oh, _fuck_ —”

Yeah, Dean wasn’t messing around.  He very willingly twisted in a third finger when Sam demanded it, but not even a minute later he was finger-fucking him with a fourth.  Sam would’ve assumed this was confirmation of him not wanting to talk.

Except, that wasn’t the case, when he pulled out and slicked up his cock with the lube.

“Turn around,” Dean commanded, and that’s when Sam knew he was in for it—his body was pulsing with lust, his heart with full with love, and he didn’t hesitate to get on all fours.  As he circled Sam’s hole with his dick, Dean offhandedly said, “You don’t have to lie to me.  I’ll forgive you, I always—” a guttural groan erupted from his chest when he sank in.

“Holy fuck, you’re tight, Sammy.”  He took his time when he bottomed out, relishing the feeling of Sam’s ass clenched around him, squeezing his cock like a hot, wet fist—but so much better.  “Mm, at least I know no one’s been fucking you…”

Dean began to rock as Sam struggled frantically to get some wind in his lungs.

He was absolutely reeling from the jolt of pain, mixed in with pleasure, but more than anything he was completely taken—feeling them _finally_ become one again.  This was where he belonged—right here, with Dean—and Sam was going to fucking drive that point home.  Even if it killed him.

Being fresh out of Purgatory had transformed Dean’s normally loving strokes into savage, nail-raking claims up and down Sam's back.  Not that it mattered to him; he’d eagerly be therapy; a release for Dean.  It wasn’t like Sam was getting the short end of the stick, he was loving every second of it.  Rough and tumble got the job done, and Dean was already taking great care to continually nail his prostate.

Sam knew that he needed to match Dean to get through to him.  His own carnal intensity needed to triple if _and_ when Dean’s doubled, just to get his attention.  When he put his mind to it, Sam managed to catch his brother off guard with his wild, yet calculated, movements.  Sam fucked himself back onto Dean’s cock, ripping the most amazing noises of delight from his chest.

“ _Damn_ , you w-weren't kidding 'bout missing me, huh?  Fuck—”  
  
Sam couldn’t have imagined that fleck of fondness in Dean's timbre, right?

With a smile Dean couldn’t see, Sam continued the unforgiving pace, responding, “All I could think about…told you, it was a whole new level of weird.  Staying c-celibate and jacking off to memories with your dead brother?   _God_ , I’m fucked up.”

There was a hitch in Dean’s pace...and suddenly, everything slowed down.

His hands fanned out across Sam’s back and took their time descending until they hovered over his flank.  The violent flare fizzled down, until it vanished completely.   _His Dean_ shined through, maybe it was muscle memory or something about Sam's words 'inspired him.'    
  
Finally, this was the man who _hadn't_ been hardened and weathered by heavy-hitting combat, twenty-four seven, the past year.  This man would rather make love, the message read clearly as he ground their hips together with purpose, rather than succumbing to a quick fuck.  His cock continued exploiting Sam’s prostate, focusing on Sam and Sam alone.  Dean overwhelmed him pleasure and took great pride in making him scream.

“You’re not fucked up, or a new level'a weird,” Dean was nothing but conviction.  The tones of adoration in his voice coupled with the staggering sensations had Sam’s toes curling, “I get it, I’d be the same, only thinking about you.  There'll n-never be _anyone_ else.  Now,” everything took a turn for the downright sensual, and he ordered, “Cum for me, Sammy.”

“Yes—!”  Sam had been holding on, skating on that edge, for what felt like forever.  Doubled over and panting, Dean's words were the key that unlocked the gateway, and Sam blew his load over the bedding on command.

He was writhing on Dean’s cock, riding out the orgasm, when he heard his brother curse out, “Jesus Christ, you’re beautiful—” with a hint of frustration…but when his hips began to lose their rhythm, Sam knew.

And he was damn proud of himself for making Dean lose it so quickly.  Usually (most always), he’d make Sam cum first.  Then Dean would continue to fuck him at his own pace, kissing him, praising him—except Sam didn’t know how _this_ Dean would carry on their traditions…  
  
As it turned out, Sam didn't have to worry.  It was too good for both of them, not allowing Dean any options.  One second, Dean was slamming their bodies together with the goal of wrecking Sam with pure bliss, and then spilling inside him in the next second.

Sam was shaking.  His entire body was shaking—his arms, his legs, his core—he was about to collapse.  When Dean got in those final few thrusts, and lingered with their skin flush, he hummed and traced the length of Sam’s trembling arm.

“Aw, you burnt out already?” he teased, took mercy on Sam, and pulled out.  Dean led them downward together to collapse and decided, “Let's actually sleep on your bed.  Guess mine's for getting dirty, huh.”

Perking up instantly, Sam had to choose his words to keep it from sounding like an interrogation, “You’ll sleep with me tonight?”

“Damn,” Dean chuckled and shimmied around to face him.  “Yer acting like I just handed you the keys to the Playboy Mansion!  Although, you may not enjoy it that much—if what you’ve been goin’ on about, trying to convince me of, is _true_ …” he let the thought linger, and that’s when Sam knew.

“You believe me.”  Thank God, he needed that confirmation so badly!  Sam cupped Dean’s cheek and surged forward to kiss him out of sheer relief.  “Thank you, thank you,” he sighed in between kisses, and Dean genuine laughter burst from his chest.

It was a beautiful sound that rang out in the room and Sam’s heart sung along with it.  He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but this…is what he wanted.  “This is the reunion I’d hoped for...”  Sam was intentionally showing his vulnerability, because Dean—what happened to him—made him unpredictable and Sam didn’t want to set him off.  “Just…being together again.  Us against the world.  No one can ever take that away.”

“Nah, they can’t,” Dean mused with happiness in his eyes while he brushed the hair away from Sam’s forehead.  “Shit, are you gonna let me cut this mop?  You look like a woman!”

Sam couldn’t help the banter, “Hey, more for you to grab onto when you pull, right?”

“More than enough, Rapunzel!”  He clucked his tongue and admitted, “This was a much better reunion.  We’ll hit delete on the other one, save _this_.”

“Fuck, I prayed we could.  Rewind to the beginning and fix it with a new, fresh start.”  Sam could speak easily now, he didn’t have to implore Dean, stress the urgency or anything, because he finally _got it._    
  
He believed Sam, he believed in Sam, most importantly: he understood.  That was all Sam could hope for after he messed up.    
  
This second chance wouldn't be for nothing, he had fought for it and Dean was damn near a feral animal during that fight.  Sam planned on living and moving forward with the best energy and optimism he could.  His 'reason,' his 'something' to fight _for_ was back, and that meant not merely in body—but now in mind.

“I can’t wait to fall asleep next to you tonight.”  Sam was leaning into the fantastic touch of Dean running his hand through his hair.  It was hypnotizing.  “That's, uh, just another thing I think about…maybe as much as sex.”

Sam had no idea what he did to deserve it, but somehow Dean didn’t make fun of him.  Even though he made himself the perfect target with that Hallmark bullshit.  Perhaps the afterglow helped, but in the past Dean was usually up for pranks and harassment no matter what happy chemicals were running through his body.  Sam would count his blessings tonight...  
  
Instead of his taunting, Dean languidly sat up and suggested, “Why don’t we make it happen then?  Clean up and get some shut eye?”

“I’d like that.  A lot.”  Dammit, Sam was glowing and he didn’t even care.

This past year had been a nightmare, every waking minute and every hour he spent dreaming of better times.  With Dean back again, and now that they’d set things right—the crushing weight that settled onto Sam’s chest was gone.  Dean had peeled it away and replaced it with a floaty, elated sensation.

Of course, they still had work to do.  Between them and the outside world.

Curling up together tonight felt like a victory, the kind of reunion that Sam could have only imagined in his wildest dreams—and it had come true.  This was where he was happy, this was what he was waiting for, but most importantly: this was what he lived for.

Sam needed to get living again instead of merely...existing, and he _finally could_ with Dean by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN Fluff Bingo  
> Square Filled: Reunited


End file.
